


Not tonight, Napoleon

by gothyringwald



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I'm tired and you're exhausted,' Illya explains, leans his forehead against Napoleon's, curling a hand around his neck, 'what you need is a good, long sleep.' Illya's tone suggests he knows that Napoleon was after a good, long something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not tonight, Napoleon

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Not tonight, Napoleon 今晚不行，Napoleon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598398) by [blakjc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakjc/pseuds/blakjc)



> First of all, thank-you so much to everyone who read, commented on and/or left kudos on [my first Napollya fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6975595). I'm honestly flabbergasted that so many of you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Secondly, this is just a silly little bit of fluff that came to me and I dashed it out as an experiment to see if I could write something I liked in a day without getting hung up on it being perfect. Plus, it was a nice break from a couple of other fics I'm working on. No smut this time, but there is in the other works in progress!
> 
> And I couldn't resist the title. I'm sure someone in the entire history of MFU fandom has had to have used it, but I didn't see anything on here.
> 
> It's unbeta'd, like all my fic, by the way.

Warm light floods the empty room as Napoleon flips the switch by the door and steps inside his apartment, Illya following close behind. He hears the door click shut and crosses the room to the teak bar by the window. The air is stale from being closed up for a few weeks, but coming home after a mission is one of Napoleon's favourite things, especially now that Illya usually comes home with him.

He turns around. Illya is leaning against the wall, a small smile on his lips. Napoleon gestures to the decanters behind him, 'want anything?'

Illya shakes his head. The Russian's arms are crossed over his chest but he looks relaxed, at ease in Napoleon's apartment. It warms something inside him that Illya looks so at home here. Napoleon strides over to the other man, uncrosses his arms, looping them around his own waist. 'Oh? Maybe I've got something else you want?' He leans up to kiss the other man, cupping his face, Illya's stubble rough against his palms.

'Mm, that's nice,' Illya murmurs against Napoleon's lips.

Encouraged, Napoleon deepens the kiss and slides his hands down, brushing over Illya's chest, then further down still, teasing over Illya's crotch.

Illya grabs Napoleon's hand, moves it away, lacing their fingers together. So, Napoleon settles his other hand on the taller man's hip and then slowly moves it around so that it rests on Illya's ass. When he squeezes, that hand is removed too.

'You are like octopus, Cowboy,' Illya laughs. He is holding both of Napoleon's hands by their sides, now.

'All the more hands, er, tentacles to pleasure you with, then.' Napoleon admits it's not one of his better lines, but so long as it works, he thinks, it will do.

Illya kisses him again. 'Mm, yes. But not tonight,' Illya breaks away and gently kisses Napoleon's forehead.

Napoleon frowns and Illya reaches up to rub at the crease between his brows. 'I'm tired and you're exhausted,' Illya explains, leans his forehead against Napoleon's, curling a hand around his neck, 'what you need is a good, long _sleep_.' Illya's tone suggests he knows that Napoleon was after a good, long something else.

Flushing, Napoleon steps away. He knows when he's being rejected, however kindly it may be. 'Right...you're right. I should, uh, go get ready for bed, then.'

He doesn't look back at Illya as he walks to his bedroom, picking up his pyjamas, and into the ensuite. It was only a matter of time, he contemplates as he squeezes toothpaste onto his brush, before Illya got bored with him. He shakes his head as soon as he thinks this. No, Illya had said he was tired and it was understandable, considering neither of them have slept properly, if at all, in days. He can't expect Illya to always be in the mood, just because he is. 

He finishes brushing his teeth, washes his face and slips out of his wrinkled suit and into fresh, blue cotton pyjamas.

When he steps back into his bedroom he freezes. Illya is sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hand over the silk comforter, wearing brown pyjamas with white piping.

Napoleon blinks. He thought Illya would be gone. 'You're still here,' Illya looks up at this, brow furrowed, but he stays silent. Napoleon looks down. 'And wearing pyjamas. Where did you even get those?'

'I keep a spare set here.' Illya gestures in the general direction of Napoleon's chest of drawers.

'Oh', is all Napoleon can think to say.

Illya is slowly turning red, avoiding Napoleon's gaze. 'I guess you didn't want me to stay, after all.' He stands and moves toward the door, picking up his discarded clothes.

Napoleon lurches forward and catches Illya's wrist. 'No! I _do_ want you to stay.'

'You obviously weren't expecting me to be here...' Illya sounds uncertain.

Napoleon shakes his head, tries to think of something to say that doesn't give away his own insecurities - that Illya had grown bored of him, of _them_ \- and only comes up with, 'I just haven't seen you in pyjamas before.' Illya's eyebrows shoot up. 'In my room, that is.'

Napoleon silently curses and is certain he is blushing but Illya just gives him a fond look and shakes his head before he kisses him, chaste, on the lips, 'I'll go brush my teeth then.' Illya puts his clothes back, on the way.

'OK.' Illya's words catch up with him. 'Wait, you have a toothbrush here, too?'

Illya smiles again and Napoleon is left bewildered, wondering how pyjamas and toothbrushes suddenly entered their relationship. And when had it become a relationship, a _romantic relationship_ , Napoleon's mind supplies, not just a working partnership with extracurricular benefits. 

He sighs and looks back over to his chest of drawers, walking over and checking the contents of each one. When he gets to the bottom drawer he finds that it contains slacks that are not entirely to his taste, a few turtlenecks that definitely aren't, some underwear and a space where Illya's pyjamas would have been. He pushes the drawer back in and stands, arms akimbo. How on earth did he never notice Illya had a drawer of things in his apartment? And where did his socks, which used to live there, go?

Maybe he is a terrible spy, he muses, but is surprised to find that the thought of the pyjamas, the toothbrush, the _drawer_ , warm him as much as Illya casually leaning against his wall, relaxed and at ease, had earlier.

He crosses the room to get into bed. Once settled, Napoleon tries to remember the last time he slept with someone without sex being involved. He's not sure he ever has. There was that one time he fell asleep on Gaby in a plane on the way home from a mission, but he isn't sure that counts as she had shoved him off nearly as soon as his head touched her shoulder and, besides, they were on a plane. And it was Gaby. He finds himself uncharacteristically at a lost as to what he should do. Should he lie down? Read a book? Pretend to be asleep?

His thoughts are broken when Illya comes back in, walks around the bed and slides in beside him. Napoleon is suddenly aware of every single part of himself in the most awkward, horrible way. They are sitting side by side and Napoleon can't will himself to relax or to say anything to break the silence hanging between them.

'OK, you are clearly uncomfortable with me being here,' Illya starts to get out of bed. Napoleon grabs his wrist, again. 'No, I'm not. Honestly, Illya.'

'You are tense,' he waves his hand at Napoleon, 'and you were surprised to still see me here earlier,' before Napoleon can respond he adds 'and _not_ because of pyjamas.'

Napoleon slumps. 'I was surprised,' he admits. Disappointment colours Illya's handsome face. 'But it was a nice surprise. You're...' Napoleon flounders for a word, brain drowsy and slow, 'nice.'

'Ah, the famous Solo charm,' Illya quips, mood lifting for a moment.

Napoleon is sheepish. 'Sorry. You were right, I _am_ exhausted. It's hard to be charming when you're this tired, even for me.'

Illya brushes his hand over Napoleon's forehead. 'Why were you surprised?'

Napoleon shrugs. 'We've never done this before.' At Illya's frown he continues, 'slept together without...sex. I didn't think you'd want to be here, otherwise.'

Illya swiftly pulls Napoleon into a tight hug. 'Of course I would. I like being here, not just to make love to you, but just to...' he trails off with a sigh, 'be with you.'

Napoleon smiles into Illya's neck. 'I like it, too.'

The other man pulls back, brushes his thumb across Napoleon's cheek. 'Time for sleep, then?'

'Only if I get a goodnight kiss, first.' Illya grins and leans in to kiss Napoleon, slow and sweet. Napoleon feels his pulse quicken. All too soon Illya breaks away and plants a quick kiss on his nose, which earns him a playful, sleepy swat.

He turns to switch off the light. Illya lies down, pulling Napoleon with him. The Russian wraps his arms tightly around the shorter man, tangling their legs together.

'Now who's the octopus?' Napoleon smiles.

'Sorry,' Illya starts to loosen his grip but Napoleon stops him with a hand on his chest.

'No, I like it.' Napoleon feels Illya relax underneath him. 'You're my sexy, handsome, Russian, octopus,' Napoleon yawns into Illya's shoulder.

Illya chuckles and presses a kiss against Napoleon's hair. 'And you need sleep.'

Napoleon hums in agreement, and Illya whispers, 'Good night, Napoleon.'

Napoleon always enjoys cuddling with Illya after sex, though he will only admit it under great duress he's sure, but cuddling sans sex is something he could get used to as well, he thinks. 'Sweet dreams, Illya.'

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was enjoyable and made sense! I'm one of those people who will continue a conversation out loud that I've been having in my head and expect everyone to know what I'm talking about and I worry that it spills over into my writing sometimes.
> 
> I guess I have a thing for these two cuddling and talking about feelings (there's more of that in at least one of the other fics I'm working on), and Illya being a bit more open and affectionate than is probably in character. IDK. Feelings! I have many!
> 
> I've been trying to use tumblr again, but it's a bunch of random, sporadic posts at best: [gothyringwald.tumblr.com](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, not entirely related, but [I made a Napollya fanmix that's up on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/gothyringwald/heart-complication), if anyone is keen on checking it out. (All '60s soul tunes).


End file.
